<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Unintentionally You by blackswans22</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27839152">Unintentionally You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22'>blackswans22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Ball</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, Humor, Light Language, body switching, boys being dumb, science gone wrong, yup that's bulma's son alright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27839152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackswans22/pseuds/blackswans22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trunks discovers he's just as brilliant as his mom. Also just as overconfident. Who knew being a mad scientist would actually come with risks?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unintentionally You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Brain worms come to life. Was working on Good Enough and I felt it was a tad too angsty for my weirdly good mood. Made this ... thing.... instead. Good luck and happy ready! ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The basement lab was one of Trunks’ favorite places to go when he wanted inspiration. Lately, he’d gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>the itch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The very same one his mother had when she was younger and created the dragon radar or his grandfather and his dinocaps before her. One fatefully random Tuesday, he’d looked down at his watch and felt the need to disassemble it. After that, he went to work inventing and improving on Capsules’ many marvels to the technological world that his late grandfather would have been immensely proud of. His mother certainly was, chalking his bout of mechanical engineering to her side of his genes finally kicking in at 17, his good looks from her already having made their appearance but squandered under awesome superhuman traits from his cocky ass father. Finally, something useful happened beyond brute strength, she mused, as for a while, she had actually thought her son was just going to become another handsome gravity room gym bro like her husband. For a little while there, she’d actually been worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully for her sake, Trunks had just been a late scientific bloomer, and now that his creative side and engineering side synced up, he had taken to mechanical inventions like a duck to water. Curious and with the occasionally maniacal streak of genius, usually at 2 am when a new innovation woke him from rest and he shot up, eager for a coffee in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down in the underbelly of the Research and Development lab, the basement was where all of Bulma’s, and before her, Grandpa Briefs’, inventions went to die. Trunks didn't see them that way as he poured through several manuals dated back 10, 20, 30 years for anything new for his mind to absorb. These weren’t failing inventions, he decided. These were just potentially new creations that just needed a fresh set of eyes and a little black magic to make them rise from the dead. He was proud to be the third generation of genius in the family and used his early education from both mom and grandfather to his advantage while pulling dusty boxes from the more rustier shelving. Late to the game he may be but in all the mess of the old, he hoped to find his own ‘capsule’ or ‘dragon radar’ type invention to share with the world worthy of his name and patent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunted as one cardboard compartment came down in more of a heap than all in one piece, spilling metal and wiring on the floor. His analytical eyes scanned for anything useful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trunks? You down here?” A familiar dopey voice called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the summons, Trunks dug around in the old debris and pulled up aging clocks, ironwork mechanisms, and dusty electronic projects searching for the ‘thing’ that stuck out to him. He was probably overdoing it. Probably too focused. He kicked himself though for being so behind. Wished he had paid more attention when he was younger listening to his mom talk about the physics behind rotational velocity-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trunks? Dude, what are you doing?” The voice sounded concerned. Probably right to, as Trunks looked down at his hands covered in dirt and grease and chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just looking at stuff.” He said casually. His best friend raised an eyebrow curiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Uh, wanna take a break? I haven't seen you for like a week.” Goten ran a hand through his short scruffy hair before scratching the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. Maybe.” Trunks replied, his eyes flitting from Goten’s face to the box of mysteries. “There’s a lot of stuff to go through down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that. Your mom told me you’ve kinda gone off the deep end.” He toed at a largeish piece of welded iron with wiring sticking out every which ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feet first, man.” Trunks agreed, wiping his brow with his sleeve only to dirty it in the process. He grinned. “I don't know what took me so long but I can't seem to stop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Goten meander over to the less broken down boxes and crates to his right. “Well, are you gonna stay down here all day?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Trunks stopped and looked over. He observed Goten touching the surface of the boxes, peeking in like a kid perusing a candy store. He noted the inquisitive eyeing of the open ones and wondered aloud. “Would you like to help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno. I’d probably get in the way.” Goten mumbled but didn’t stop running his fingers across the grimy surfaces of shelved items looking very tempted to take them down for a better look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks sat back on his haunches. That may not be the look of wanting to design, but it definitely was the look of desired invitation. Trunks could always use an apprentice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naw. You’d do great. I insist.” He clapped his friend on the back encouragingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The twinkle in Goten’s eye said it all. He may not have been technologically minded, but he was as curious as a cat. The younger teen grinned. “Yea, sure. What do you need me to do?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The room smelled of melted metals and a day’s worth of sweat. There was a snap, a pop, a sizzling buzz. Then finally, a blue light radiated from a large rectangle with steel walls on all sides save for the front with only a piece of glass holding distorted illumination from within. Both Trunks and Goten looked on in wonder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the course of 5 hours, the boys sifted through box after box of oddities, searching for Trunks’ white whale. Sure everything was interesting in its own way. Yet he knew something would stick out, something would catch his eye. That something ended up being a metal box, under a faded green tarp and when uncovered, both Goten and Trunks observed with fascination and pulled it out with a curious shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outside being a thick steel encasing, Trunks observed the glass door, frayed wiring, broken filaments, and what appeared to be several burned-out resistors and smirked. It was something new. Something exciting. He was sure. He grinned from ear to ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Refurbishing the old components was the easy part. Noting its age, Trunks figured with certainty this was a contraption from his grandfather’s days and just lacked the modern and more streamlined electronics to replace the older, obsolete versions. Smaller, more powerful resistors, better coated and stronger wiring and reinforced steel plating brought the grey box up to the present day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The internal mechanisms, however, proved to be the bane of the machine. He spied Bulma’s handiwork in most places within yet it stopped short of completion. For the life of him, getting any of the interior components to work how he expected them to was frustrating enough. Thankfully Goten’s support in retrieving whatever Trunks needed without having to step away, be it tool or food, allowed him to focus entirely on the task at hand until a final copper wiring was welded, cooled, and the device’s main switch breathed its first breath of electric life with a ceremonious whir. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power supply was massive. The fans inside were working. He had no idea what it actually did. But it turned on. And the blue light bulb burned bright from inside its metal case, both ominous and mystifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Goten leaned back with caution, his eyes widened with the blue glow tinted his face. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks shook his head, mini welder in his hand and his gaze just as riveted as his friend’s. “I have no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks noted the time. 2:23 pm. The two of them had been there for 9 hours. No wonder his back ached as he stretched before placing his hands on the outside and trying to fathom what the device actually did besides lighting the room like a cyan underwater cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lamp within continued to blaze as Trunks took a more powerful flashlight to investigate the inner workings while it was powered on. He opened the squeaky glass door from its frame. The hum from the fan was positively soothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Trunks picked up a pair of electronics tweezers while bending inside the box for a better look, Goten milled about just outside, stretching his tired limbs and yawning loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks angled his flashlight at a resistor that looked burned out, its melted coating black instead of tan and striped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s odd. I thought I replaced all of these.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, ‘Ten? You remember where the little resistors are?” He asked, carefully tapping the delicate electrified components with the rubber tips of the tweezers. The fan’s blades whirred loudly at his ear. A soft clicking sounded every 5 seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean the little ticktac things?” Goten inquired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yea those. Can you bring me the box, I need to turn this off and replace one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” The clicking noise sounded every 3 seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He listened to Goten’s footfalls recede then slowly return as he glanced around, hunting for any others that failed. The light shake of tiny resistors in a plastic box to his left drew his eye line for only a moment. He had the flashlight in one hand. The tweezers in the other, still angled at the broken resistor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Goten said as he casually dipped down, handing the plastic container over. Trunks tried to drop the flashlight carefully. The clicking sounded every half second, enough for Trunks to recognize its presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that noise?” Goten inquired tilting his head down for a better look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In trying to finagle the flashlight and container of resistors, Trunks dropped the tweezers. The metal tongs touched the electrified unit for a fraction of a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The electrical spark ignited in a brilliant spray of colored particles. Trunks gasped while covering his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goten managed to pull Trunks from the box before it rumbled, the glass of the light bulb brightening to a blinding blue before it popped and shattered along with the metal box itself.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The following explosion tore through the basement with a wave of sound, heat and energy.  Trunks and Goten sheltered behind several metal shelves while holding their breath, protecting their heads with their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing Trunks could think about as a second and third wave of energy pulsed from the box like an invisible tide was how much trouble he was in when his mom eventually found out.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The pulsing subsided after a few tense minutes into an eerie trickle of dust settling on the ground. Dreadfully sure he was going to stand and see the entire basement a crater and look up to a gigantic hole in the ceiling, Trunks carefully drew himself up from his hiding place. He coughed up dust and smoke while patting his dirty pants. His heart beat throbbing at his temple as he tried to catch his breath, he peered through the dark haze and thanked Dende 1000 times for the lack of mawing mouth in the ceiling and glanced around discovering only the machines and items in the direct vicinity of the box had melted and nothing was on fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crisis averted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He breathed a sigh of relief. <em>Well, it could have been a much larger crisis</em>, as he grimaced over the destruction. He turned at the sound of grunting to his right as a hand pushed a metal shelf to the floor with a bang and plume of dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks stared in jaw-dropping confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” He said as a purple head popped up with a breathless exhale and glanced around bewildered. “How did you-?. What’s happened in the future now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trunks scanned the empty spaces in the room for the time machine. Or anything that could explain what just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” The man said as he sat up on his haunches and blinked a few times. He stared back in mirrored bafflement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A strange stilted sound fell out of Trunks’ open mouth. He watched the other man look down at his hands. Touch his face. His clothing. That looked an awful lot like the jeans and black tee Trunks was wearing only moments before. He didn't dare look down at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what is.. What’s going on?” Trunks stuttered in alarm. This wasn’t the future version of himself...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wide eyes, wide </span>
  <em>
    <span>blue</span>
  </em>
  <span> eyes gaped at him in horror. The man froze and began hyperventilating before saying what they were both thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re me!” Goten cried in shock.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>